Bull Elk #2 Even Better

In my post I've Waited 11 Years I wrote about how it took 11 years for me to see elk up close on our very own property. I'd seen them running across our driveway road up ahead and I'd seen them from a distance but I'd always wanted to see them walk right past the house. Sometimes I'd even wake up in the middle of the night hearing a funny noise and wonder if just maybe I was meant to get up and look out the window because my elk would be there. After that amazing experience of watching a cow elk drinking from our water trough literally right below our window my next big desire was to see a bull close to the house.


Well, I got my wish. It was a couple weeks after my really fun sighting of a bull elk just 30 feet off the highway. I was waiting for a visiting friend to call me from a couple miles away so I could direct her back in to our place. It was October so the elk were bugling every night. I'd had a few conversations with them from time to time, doing my personal rendition of a female elk call. Before my friend called I thought I'd water my plants on the front porch. Upon opening the front door I heard a loud bugle of a bull elk. I thought, "Wow, he sounds close." So I called to him. Immediately he called back. Usually they wait a bit to respond. Not this guy. He called instantly.  I waited, playing coy, and called again. Immediately he bugled back.

"Wow! He sounds REALLY close."  I took a look from the front porch back behind the house. I could see his legs through the trees! I kept up my calling and very soon I could see his head and long antlers bobbing up and down as he grazed on the grasses. He was only about 40 feet from the back of the house, another 35 feet to me.

He nonchalantly grazed, stopping now and then to bugle. He was with some of his ladies making their way from the woods, where they spent the day bedded down, out to the meadows for their night time grazing. He was getting closer. I was so excited. I began to think, "What if he sees me and gets mad that I'm an impostor?" Bulls can be pretty ornery when disappointed during their rut, or breeding season. I also began to think about my friend who was due to call me at any second. I didn't want my phone ringing while I was outside.

So I snuck back inside and managed to shut the door silently. I went right to the dining room window at the back of the house and got a great look at him. It was so awesome! He grazed and sauntered just 20 feet from the window. A great big bull! I got to watch him for several minutes before my cell phone rang. When it did he stopped and looked toward the house. I whispered to my friend what I was watching. The bull began to angle away from the house and move on with a little more determination. I let go of the marvelous experience with him and focused on directing my Alaska friend down our dirt roads and to the house. When I opened the door and heard her car crunching on the gravel I went out back and waited for her to drive in.

I knew the elk was still pretty close, out beyond the opposite corner of the house and walking farther away, but I didn't want to scare him into running full speed away. I wanted to see if I could get him to bugle for my friend.  When she pulled in we greeted each other and I tried not to instinctively whisper. This was, after all, a reunion and a first ever visit and it warranted expression of the enthusiasm we both felt. Again I tried to let go Mr. Bull and enjoy the greetings I exchanged with my friend. But as soon as the initial ones were complete, I told her I wanted to try to get him to bugle for her. I did my call, wondering how far away he would be and if he'd be onto me and ignore it. Bam! Immediately he bugled loudly! Apparently he'd moved on quickly past the house and then resumed his relaxed grazing. I was so glad she got to hear him. "Do it again!" she said. I did. And he did!  IT WAS SO FUN, again! And even better than the last time!

If you've never heard an elk bugle, check out this incredible YouTube video  (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=794wEIbHlDc) of a BBC story about the yearly elk invasion of Estes Park, Colorado.

Bull Elk

Living in the country I'm privileged to see quite a bit of wildlife. Every now and then, on the dirt roads around home we see elk grazing or crossing the road, all of them females, or "cows." Very rarely do bull elk show themselves.  So I was pretty excited when I saw a "big ol' bull" on my way home from work about six weeks ago. He was just off the highway behind a barbed wire fence. Right there in broad daylight!

This was too special; I just had to turn around. When I did, it seemed all other cars vanished from the highway and I got to slow down to a crawl as I came to him. He walked right along with me, about 30 feet away, still on the other side of the fence. It was so cool. I watched him and he watched me. I could tell he wanted to cross the road; he paced the fence waiting for an opportunity to cross.

Since I was now going the wrong direction, headed back toward town rather than home, I turned around again. He was still there. It is so rare to see a big bull elk from the highway. It's rare to see them altogether. And there he still was; I just had to prolong this incredible sighting. So I went up aways and turned around again. This would make my fourth pass. This time, a delivery truck had come by and gotten in front of me. Mr. Bull had jumped the fence wanting to cross the highway. The truck had to brake and the bull turned back, pacing and biding his time. I'd pestered him enough so I slowed way down to give him ample room. He crossed up ahead of me. The last I saw of him was his cream colored rump jumping over the fence as I passed by. IT WAS SO FUN!

Sap Rising

Before the church service ended, she began sobbing. Her husband reached over and enfolded her in his arms. Her soft wails could be heard over the service. A final prayer, a final song, still she cried. It was the Sunday following a powerful week at our church. It was our first 24/7 prayer event and God was moving. Prayer team members and artists had developed creative and inspiring prayer stations. The beautiful, tranquil setting invited resting in God's presence and meeting Him in new ways. He was doing business with us all.

The service over now, people made their way outside. But I remained, captivated by this dear woman and her loving husband. The pastor approached them for a brief moment but then let them be. “God is doing a sacred work,” I marveled to myself, “right here, right now.” I was moved at the wisdom of people who knew not to interrupt it. Rather than rush in prematurely with noble attempts to make it all better, everyone seemed to know that God was doing business with her. Sacred business. Life-changing business.

Transformation is God's sacred work in us. It's a process. God's in it for the long haul with us. His work sometimes comes in spurts where He does huge business all at once, but generally, transformation comes about slowly as we spend more and more time with Him. It doesn't often happen on our time table. I'd prefer that it happen much more quickly in me than it is. In fact, over the years, I've often tried to hurry it along with what I think are the right things to do. All good things and good disciplines, but I was doing them for the wrong reasons. Without really knowing it, I was expecting them to change my heart from the outside in. I'd created a burden of expectations and became tied up with guilt over all the things I should be doing and what I thought I should be like as a Christian.

One day I realized that what I was doing amounted to trying to tape fruit onto a tree. I was starting with the fruit and trying to make it real in my life by adding on all the “proper” Christian behavior. Pass me the tape, I'm going to be a good Christian!

We can get it so backwards sometimes. We look out there into the future and ask, “What's my goal? What does Christian maturity look like?” Wanting something measurable, we easily think of behaviors pertaining to things that are right and good. A “mature” Christian would... fill in the blank. And then we focus on adding on all those things to our “outside,” taping on the fruit of what we want to someday be.

But taped on fruit falls off. Taped on fruit withers and rots. It doesn't last because it's not connected. It hasn't been grown from within. There are no fruit factories where fruit is assembled or manufactured. Behavior can be taped on; qualities form. Fruit forms. Real fruit is a result of sap rising within the tree, flowing through the branches and out to the ends where there emerges a blossom, then a bud, then the fruit. God forms His fruit in me. The more I am with Him, the more He works in me to produce His fruit. The more I bring my very truest self to Him and trust Him with who I really am, the more genuine my relationship is with Him and the more He can work in me. He can work with my junk and my ugliness, my bad moods and selfish desires, when they're honestly brought before Him. What He can't work with is pretense, my manufactured efforts covering up a hiding heart.

He is the vine, I am the branch. By abiding in Him the sap rises, so to speak, and He brings about fruit in my life. (John 15:4) “Abide in Me and I in you,” He says. “As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, unless it abides in the vine, so neither can you, unless you abide in Me.” (John 15: 5) Taped on fruit doesn't transform me. God transforms me. It takes trusting all of Him with all of me. As I spend time with Him, leaving my tape behind, wanting simply to know Him more, He changes me. From the inside out.

Connecting With God

Our devotions teacher at the CLASS Christian Writers' Conference was Jan Johnson. If you don't know Jan's work, I highly recommend you get some of her books. They are worth devouring. Her message is that of slowing down to connect with God in deliberate and meaningful ways, rather than applying our hurried modern attitude to our Bible reading, prayer, and our relationship with God in general. For over 20 years she has been studying, practicing, and writing on how to incorporate spiritual disciplines into our lives for the purpose of connecting with God, not out of a sense of obligation or as another To Do List item we can check off when done. Her books include, When the Soul Listens, Savoring God's Word, Invitation to the Jesus Life, Spiritual Disciplines Companion, and Abundant Simplicity and more.

Jan was a wonderful devotions speaker. She pointed us toward “hanging out with Jesus” and investing in our spiritual formation in ways that meet us personally, being intentional about our spiritual formation. She gave us an example of an area of difficulty for her, getting grumpy at airports. As a national speaker, she spends a lot of time in airports traveling to and from retreats and speaking engagements. “Lord, help me find something to change my attitude at airports,” was her prayer. Now, at airports her mind is on helping others whenever she sees a need. If someone drops something, she picks it up for them. If someone is struggling with their luggage, she helps. Instead of being grumpy, she's now looking for ways to serve people, hoping to brighten their day. Beautiful! I have never seen or heard of that kind of detailed intentionality in one's spritual life.

My “take-away” word from the daily teaching lab I'd selected was “intentional.” As I mentioned in that post, this word comes with a warning. To use Jan's loving words, the warning is simply this: “Don't you dare do this out of a sense of obligation!” The purpose is not to add on a bunch of dos and don'ts to a spritual regimen. The purpose is to deepen our connection with God. Here is where the challenge lies: making sure the outward activities of my intentionality always begin on the inside, in my heart, and move outward, rather than starting on the outside and expecting them to transform my heart.

Transformation was the topic of our 2011 conference book project. (Last year's topic was "Out of the Overflow.") Those who wanted to participate wrote a short article about transformation to be included in a compilation book published by WinePress, due out around Christmas. The piece I intended to include is all about this “from the inside out” process of transformation. Since I didn't include it for publication in the book, I'll publish it here in a couple days in order to continue my thoughts on intentionality from the heart.

Intention

At last week's writers' conference, I attended the teaching lab titled "The Spiritual Journey Of A Writer". It was taught by Jerome Daley, a Leadership and Writing Coach from North Carolina. We met every morning in the cozy Gathering Room furnished with a fireplace, couches, tables and beautiful art. Throughout our meetings, Jerome asked pointed questions and required us to answer with single words. I loved this exercise. Being a lover of words (as are all my classmates) I really enjoyed simplifying things down to a single word.

 

One of the questions was, "What is your favorite kind of writing?" Some of our answers were:  reflective, formational, healing, unapologetic, vulnerable, and hoping.

 

Another question was "What one word describes where you are in your spiritual journey?" What a thought provoking question! It's surprising how powerful a single word can be. Reducing a description to single word makes that one word very, very significant. Some of the words our group used to describe their spiritual journey are:  deep, deepening, quiet, crippled, assaulted, resistant, desperate, growing, transformed, content, doorstep, worshipful. Wow.

 

We zeroed in on some key things for our spiritual journey and our writing journey, and then merged the two together on the last day, aiming at understanding our personal needs for either structure or spontaneity so we can better create a "map" for these journeys.

 

We talked about being intentional in class and again, Jerome asked us to use a single word or a phrase to describe the word “intention.” Some of the things we contributed were: on purpose, aware, directed, tenacious, deliberate, slow down, focus, not getting steam rolled by life, and choosing.

 

At the end of our three sessions, we were asked to select a single word reflecting what had impacted us most. The word I chose was "intentional." When asked, as we all were, to explain why, I shared the disappointing truth that "The things I long for in my life are not a part of my life because I have not been intentional."  This conference for me was all about becoming more intentional in both my spiritual journey and my writing journey. It was a message "coincidentally" repeated throughout the workshops I chose, the group devotions time, and my personal time with God at Ghost Ranch the day before the conference began.

 

But this word, intentional,  comes with an important warning. I'll write a little about it in my next post.

 

Writers' Conference

Last week I attended another CLASS Christian Writers Conference. It was SO good! Like last year it was held at Ghost Ranch just outside Abiquiu, New Mexico. The beautiful and isolated setting of the ranch always adds so much to an already inspiring week. CLASS does such a good job at putting on this conference. There are valuable workshops and continuing teaching labs throughout the week. The faculty are "real" people genuinely interested in our lives, our writing and helping us become better writers. The spiritual emphasis of the program is so grounding, keeping us focused on what matters the most: our relationship with God. After all, He is the reason we want to write. He has put in each of us the love of writing, the desire to "write for Him" and His purposes. It is our desire to let Him use what He has put into us, both the skill and the messages.

It was a great week. Here are a few of the photos I took.

This Cottonwood tree was stunning. I arrived on Tuesday at the Ranch and spent Wednesday alone on kind of a personal retreat. I took photos, read and journalled in the morning and wrote in the afternoon.

Ghost Ranch is nestled up to these beautiful mountains.

The buildings of Ghost Ranch run alongside and at the end of The Alfalfa Field. In the background is Pedernal Mountain, which Georgia O'Keeffe was so fond of painting from the ranch.

Thursday and Saturday were stormy days for us. We ate breakfast to a blustering snow outside the windows of the dining hall. This photo was taken on Saturday after the storm had passed over us. The dark storm clouds moved behind the mountain and the sun came out to shine brightly on the rock face. It was breathtaking.

I love this formation with all its holes and crevasses.

Last year I stayed in the Bunkhouse. The rooms were very small and bare, with a dormitory style bathroom outside and down the row. I was happy to find myself rooming again this year with the same roommate, Connie, with whom I earned my rookie merit badge by staying in the Bunkhouse. This year's accommodations were a giant step up, comparatively. Our room was so much larger. It was carpeted and we had an actual closet, bookshelves, two chairs and an end table. We had a sink in our room and we shared a semi-private bath with the room next door.  It was rustic, with a bare and worn concrete floor in the shower - but compared to last year, it was heaven. This is where we stayed last week in Poplar.

These giant poplars are in front of the Dining Hall. The Bunkhouse is seen in the background, the only buildings on that side of the Alfalfa Field.

I am so drawn to all the Adirondack chairs on the property. Our busy program kept us bustling from one workshop to the next event, leaving these chairs empty the entire week. One of the faculty and my friend, Ron, asked the insightful question of this photo:

Why are empty chairs so compelling?

Always interested in detail, and to the exceptional, I was drawn to take this photo of the turquoise chair.

Again this year I was captivated by the thousands of fallen poplar leaves.  Last year I took a photo of a heart shaped stain left by one of them on the sidewalk. This year I found an impression on a plate in the dirt. I thought the plate was made of steel but when thinking about it I can't figure out how a lightweight leaf could leave an impression in steel. It must be stained concrete or something.

I loved this bike rack loaded with fallen leaves.

And then there were the golden leaves still on a few trees. Wednesday was such a clear and sunny day I was able to get some photos of the sort I have longed to capture for quite some time.

This giant poplar was so pretty! I loved the dripping clusters of leaves.

I had such a fun time taking photos of this tree. I must have stood under it for half an hour.

Wednesday's blue sky and sun were a gift. By the end of the week, after two cold storms, this tree had lost many of it's leaves and what remained had turned brown.

Truly Meeting Trouble

8:00 p.m. last night I was driving down the mountain to Phoenix in my Mom's old Buick. I'm two thirds of the way there, in the pitch of dark. In the middle of nowhere. Coasting down a hill. As the road leveled off, I needed to give it some gas to maintain speed. Nothing. The engine revved but didn't accelerate. What? Foot off the gas. Hm. Let's try that again. Foot on the gas. Vroooom! No acceleration. Holy cow, I'd better pull over. 

Thankfully, this portion of road had a decent shoulder in which to pull off (Blessing #1). Unfortunately, it was littered with broken glass but I had no choice. I had to pull over. When I did, it looked like the engine was smoking. Great. Hmm, but before I came to the glass I heard the tires crunching a whole lot like there was gravel. Maybe it's just dirt catching up to me. So I let off the brake, coasted about 15 feet and stopped again. Still smoking. Definitely smoking. Great.

Opening up the hood confirmed what was already obvious; the car was smoking. Mom's car has a hood light so the engine compartment was entirely lit up. Very nice. Thankfully, I also had a big flashlight with me. (Blessing #2) I've gotten in the habit of taking the big flashlight with me to work every morning just in case I need to stop at the store after work and I get home after dark. I have about a 50 foot walk to get to the back door. In the woods without a flash light, that's kind of scary. Thus the flashlight. Yeah! Thank You, God. I was able to see my way around the car, watch my footing, flash into the brush off the edge of the road, and feel safe considering I was in javelina and rattle snake country. That flashlight also enabled me to see the problem. My mom's car was bleeding. Red transmission fluid was running downhill out from underneath the front. I was in big trouble.

I pulled out my cell phone and wondered if I could get any service. Yes! I was in a pocket with service! (Blessing #3) Since no one was stopping to help me, and I'd feel a tad nervous if they did, I was SO glad I had service. And an almost full battery, having just recharged it the night before. (Blessing #4) I called my brother, where I was headed, and remembered that he was at the Jimmy Buffet concert. He answered and gave me some direction. I called my other brother, who was at work in the Emergency Room and didn't hear his phone. I left a message he never got. (He told me today there was no message so he thought I just "butt dialed" him.) Then I called The Fisherman who was even farther out of town than I was, in the other direction.

All in all, I placed over 20 calls in 90 minutes. Both brother and husband said to call them back after the next task was accomplished. It was a telephoning circus. Since brother was at a concert and The Fisherman, and his evidently equally-internet impaired friend, couldn't get me a number to the nearest Highway Patrol (what a scene that must have been), the settled upon advice was to call 911 and tell them it's not an emergency but I'd like to have a DPS (Dept. of Public Safety) officer come give me some support and protection while I figured out what to do next. Piece of cake; they patched me right through. Of course, there was no visible mile marker so I couldn't tell them exactly where I was. But I could tell them sort of where I was, because (Blessing #5) just minutes before the car trouble I'd wondered where the heck I was on the journey and decided I had not yet reached the hill before Sunflower. "Somewhere between Payson and Sunflower," I told them. That was enough; they'd send someone right out.

I had no idea who to call next or how to find their number to call them. Did I want it towed all the way to Phoenix? Back to Payson? How much is this going to cost, for crying out loud? I'd cross that bridge when  things settled down a little.

OK. DPS called. Officer on the way. Call The Fisherman and update him. Done. Hang up. Decide I'll call my co-worker and ask her to pray for me. Thumb is hovering over the Send button, and ... wait, what's that I see out of the corner of my eye? Someone's pulling off the road in front of me. Relief and concern simultaneously present themselves. I look up the road at them and see it's.....a tow truck! No kidding! I couldn't believe it. (Blessing #6!!) My jaw literally dropped. It had been about 7 seconds since I'd hung up with The Fisherman. I called him back, saying, "You're not going to believe this..." I stayed on the phone with him while the driver approached and handed me his card.

Good advice from The Fisherman to his far away and vulnerable wife: call DPS back and ask them to verify this guy's legitimate. I was relieved to hear them say, "Oh yes, we know him. He's on our rotation of guys we refer to in cases like yours." (Blessing #7) This guy was so patient and understanding. He simply waited for me while I did all this checking right in front of him. He even shined his flashlight on his business card for me when I needed to tell The Fisherman and DPS who he was. (Blessing #8)

He hooked me up and pulled the car onto the flat bed of his tow truck. (Although it's really not a "tow" anymore, is it? It's more of a ride.)  DPS arrived, giving face-to-face confirmation that this man and his tow service is reputable. (Blessing #9) Good thing because I had a 70 mile ride with him to my brother's mechanic's shop. We had nice conversations about his family and living off the grid, as he does, too.

I arrived "home" to my brother's at 11:00 p.m. and $360 poorer. But...all in one piece and safe and sound. (Blessing #10) Blessing #11 is that during this whole ordeal, I was not afraid. I can honestly say that I was actually trusting God the whole time, calmly dealing with the unknowns and trusting that it would all get worked out somehow. That's amazing for me. And a huge blessing indeed.

Blessing #12 is kind of silly, but when you think about it, it's not. I debated, driving through Payson, whether I should take the time to stop for a restroom break. I realized I could probably make it the 90 minutes to Phoenix, but eventually decided to go ahead and stop. Given the long delay, I'm certainly glad I did. That could have been a problem.

The next blessing is that I was actually going down to Phoenix at all. I was disappointed that I had to go, given the fact that I have much to do at home in the next 10 days and couldn't really afford the time to make this trip. But, the registration on Mom's car had lapsed and couldn't be renewed until it went through the Emissions Test. The car is registered in Phoenix; my county doesn't require emissions tests and therefore has no testing stations. In 10 days I'm headed to the CLASS Christian Writers' Conference and really needed to get the registration up to date before that trip. I've been borrowing Mom's car from "the estate" for most of the summer because of it's air conditioning, and have been hanging onto it for this upcoming trip. There was no way around it: I had to drive all the way to Phoenix to get the test so I could renew the tags.  Blessing #13 is that I had to make this trip. If I didn't, this serious roadside trouble could have happened on my trip to New Mexico in unfamiliar territory where many segments of road have only a 3 inch shoulder. If it had happened then, it would have been much more dangerous, much more costly, much more upsetting and I wouldn't have made it to the conference.

So, all in all, and crazy as it sounds, that whole awful ordeal last night was a blessing itself and was full of other blessings. I came through the other side of it with a deep sense of God's protection, provision, and favor.

P.S.  Sorry for these incredibly long posts of late!

Meeting Trouble

Half a mile from the highway, driving home from work and errands about 8:30 p.m., on the pitch dark road leading into our little community, the road up ahead looked kind of funny. I strained to see better but all I could make out was what seemed to be a light patch in the road beyond the full reach of my headlights. I slowed down and as I approached, I saw that this lighter patch was moving. Slower and closer still I realized it was a white dog running in my lane in the same direction ahead of me.

Stray dogs always wrench my heart. The town where we actually live is very, very small, with only a couple streets, a couple churches, a school, library and fire station. At the highway is a post office and general store. This dog was too far from "town proper" and way to close to the highway in the dark blackness of the night. At least it was running in the right direction.

Going only about 5 miles an hour now, I saw that the dog sped up as I passed it. Not like it was chasing the car, but like it was trying to get my attention. I slowed to a crawl and she trotted beside me curiously looking up into my window. She was a white pit bull with perky flopped over ears. As soon as I stopped the car, she put her front paws on my door and looked in. With window rolled mostly up I talked sweetly to her, not sure I could trust her. I had no clue as to her temperament yet, I just knew she was very interested in me. As I watched her responses to my constant sweet talking, I incrementally rolled my window down farther and farther. Before long, the window was rolled all the way down and she was leaning in, tail wagging and totally lovey.

I knew I had to do something. But what? I couldn't take her home because I was dog sitting for my friends and already had a dog at home. Our outdoor kennel was not escape proof and had a big gaping hole in the chicken wire where a previous canine visitor had squeezed his way out. Even if I fixed it, I couldn't take this dog out of town the other direction and closer into the woods only to have it escape in the night and be even more lost. I didn't know what to do. But...I had to do something.

I wondered if she'd get in the car with me so I could try to find her house. I got out and before I could open the back door, she jumped right in the front seat and started to settle in. I called her out and into the back seat where she sat right down like she'd just paid her ticket and was waiting for the ride to begin. I drove to one house with a long gravel driveway. I honked the horn and called out "Hello!" hoping to rouse someone in the house. The rule of the country is that you don't get out of your car because chances are there's a very protective dog loose on the property somewhere. When a couple finally came out, they said they didn't know where the dog lived but thought they'd seen her down by the library a few times.

With the dog now sitting up in the front seat beside me, I drove down two of our six total streets, watching her closely for any signs that she saw her home. Nothing. She just sat there observing everything as if thinking, "Oh boy, isn't this fun!" My next attempt led me to a house, with a German Shepherd and a couple of kids running around. I asked if they recognized her and the handsome young Indian boy said, "Oh, hey, that's Trouble. She lives over that way." He then proceeded to give me the most confusing directions I could imagine, especially since our town is so stinkin' small! I set out to the road he told me of. Nothing from Trouble helped me figure out if I was on the right track or not. She was just enjoying her ride, sitting up looking around, and sometimes laying down on the front seat like she was going home with me.

Next up, the Fire Department. I left the car running as I went inside and asked a firefighter if he could come out and possibly identify a dog for me. "A dog?" he asked, wondering what the heck I was getting him into. He came out with me and another firefighter followed along.

"Trouble! How're you doing, girl?" It seems I had the town celebrity in my car. Everyone seemed to know Trouble. She reached her head out the window and wriggled her whole body as she greeted her firehouse friends. From them I learned that Trouble is indeed trouble. She's an escape artist who's owner has ultimately given up trying to contain her. Trouble makes her rounds visiting folks in the tiny little hub of our town that contains only the library, firehouse, and churches.

I finally got specific directions to where Trouble lived. "Right behind the church" would have been a good sentence the young boy could have said to me, but no. I'd gone way past the church into eery territory unknown after talking to the boy. Now I went back where I'd slowly passed before and carefully observed Trouble's demeanor. Right back to where we'd heard the little yappy dog barking in a yard -- her yard -- but Trouble seemed to pay only passing attention to it.  Back at her house, I stopped the car and opened the back passenger door. (She was back in the back again, having made herself quite at home jumping around my car.)  I opened the door and she just sat there, looking at me and the house as if she didn't have any intention of going home. She was having too much fun driving around with her new friend.

With a little coaxing, she got out and walked a few feet down the driveway. I wasn't entirely sure she would go home. When I drove away she was back out into the street again, looking at me, apparently wondering why our little party was over. But I'd done my best and was happy to have taken her home.

She probably would have eventually made her way back home from where I'd first seen her. But I'm glad I picked her up. I'm guessing she was farther away than she'd ever been before and she was much too close to the highway for a dog with such a wanderlust. Especially at night. I figured if she stayed out all night after I dropped her off, at least she was back in her own neighborhood.

The next day on my way into town, I passed the little white log cabin church on the other side of the main road. The parking lot was full of cars and a few people were milling about. And there was Trouble. Right in the action, saying hi and making her rounds.

She's a funny, happy and friendly dog, that one. I'm glad I met Trouble.

My Grey Story

Long grey hair. Powerfully influential voices in my head resound with the notion that:

"A woman shouldn't have long hair after 40," and

"A woman over 40 should especially not have long grey hair."

I have kept my hair long or longish for many years now. When we first moved up to the mountains it was really long. Then I began wearing it just below my shoulders.

My grey began over 20 years ago. Early greying runs in my family. In fact my first grey hair came at age 19. Thankfully it staved itself off for more than a decade before too many more showed up. Twenty some years ago, my then fiance, bless him, recommended I not dye my hair as it grew increasingly grey. At first I was a little leary of this image-threatening idea. But, I also kind of liked it. I don't recall actually ever making the decision not to. Once he said those loving, supportive, and encouraging words, I just didn't really think directly about it much. I've always been on the more "natural" side. A touch of laziness probably had something to do with it, too. That, and I don't think I was too keen on all those chemicals...and the trial and error...and the cost...and the time. But his most outstanding commentary on the matter was this: "What do you do when you get sick of the hassle, the chemicals, the expense and the time, and you just want to stop? By then you'll be way more grey than when you started and it will be a huge shock, not to mention a challenging process, to go back to natural." What a blessing his advice has been. (I just don't think he expected me to go this grey this early. Oh well. HE said!)

I confess, I had an advantage though. My grey started in full force in the back of my head. I had a touch of the skunk look. A subtle skunk. But, hey, it was in the back and I just don't look at the back of my head that often. Around my face retained more of my natural brown. So, with a touch of oblivion and a touch of that no fussing laziness, I actually forget how grey I really am! What a dope, right? But it seems to serve me well as I still get to appreciate more brown in front. When I look at my face in the mirror, I am deceived into thinking I'm less grey than I really am.

This is me last September (2010) with some of Martin Buser's Iditarod sled dogs. He allowed us to go on the "free run" with them. While my hair looks pretty darn grey here, wait till you see the next one of me walking up the trail.

Now there's a lot of grey!

While that denial and oblivion is a mystery in itself, there is, however a greater mystery. There is one feature of my particular pattern of going grey that can get me pining for my youthful brown tresses. The very undermost layer of my hair - about a half inch worth - is completely and utterly my original dark brown color. (Thanks, thanks, couldn't have been the top layer, huh?) Occasionally I take out the mirror, swoop my hair up and gaze upon what used to be. I sigh and I pout a little. And then I go back to marvelling at the completey, utterly, and thoroughly grey patch next to the rest of my hair that is almost totally grey.

I'm glad I've never dyed my hair, though. It has been freeing to let it be what it's going to be. I'm glad I didn't embark on the maintenance commitment that dying it would have involved. AND, I am enjoying the encouragement of the many comments I receive in praise of such a move. More and more women are coming up to me saying how they like my grey and that I have given them courage to let theirs go back to natural. That blesses me. Who'd a thunk it?

But now...another dilemma. Short or long? I'm voting for long. Why? Probably a mix of reasons which might include, a touch of unconventionalism, a touch of rebellion maybe, some of that funky artist thing, a secret bit of hippie inside me, and...I find it beautiful. Just take a look at some of these photos.

http://brightonwoman.blogspot.com/2009/02/long-grey-beautiful.html

Old Books

I love books.
I love old books.
I collect old books. Or at least I did for awhile.

It all started when I went into a used bookstore and came across an old copy of Laura Ingalls Wilder's, Little House in the Big Woods. I paid $6 for it that day and had no idea I'd embarked on an antique book collecting phase of my life.

I began collecting old books before it became popular and I found them in little antique shops all over town. I rarely ever paid more than $10. Many were under $5. I have some beautiful ones. I have some homely ones. Some I bought because I liked the cover. Some I bought because I wanted to read them. Some I bought because I like the author. I have several Louisa May Alcott books, including Little Women, Little Men, Jo's Boys, and Good Wives. Some are classics, like Ben Hur, Robinson Crusoe, and Paradise Lost. I have books of poetry, books of short stories, old Bibles, and old song books. I fell in love with a little leather book inside a case at one antique store. It was only about 2" x 2.5". It was $15. I hated to pay that much and debated a long, long time. It was a book of hymns. It was only the words, no notes. I didn't recognize the name of the writer/composer but I finally caved in and bought it. Turns out it a book of compositions by the man who wrote the famous Christmas hymn, Joy to the World.

I bought a book for my sister-in-law because of its simple one word title, which was her name. She loved it. One day I found a book I knew I just had to buy for a friend. Long ago he and his wife gave each other hillbilly nicknames. He's Willis (Willis You Killus) and she's Edna (Edna Mae Knot). When I found a book titled, Edna, His Wife, I just had to get it for him. Little did I know he also collected old books. It was a hit.

When we bought our land up here in the woods I began noticing books with fun titles pertaining to our new adventure getting back to nature. Thus began a miniature "collection within a collection" of books with nature titles. I have some of them together on a special little book shelf.

The Rock and the Wind has a funny meaning to me. We bought our property in the month of February. Winter was beginning to fade away but Spring had not yet come. Two things I have found most annoying in my life are wind and rocky terrain. This piece of property was beautiful and was the best thing we'd seen for the price. We were thrilled. It was our dream come true. We were so happy. It wasn't until after we'd bought it and spent a few weekends up here that I realized how dang many rocks there were. Rocks were everywhere. I'd trip over them, stub my toes on them, roll my ankles on them. They are just everywhere.  Aargh. And then came the wind. We discovered that every spring and every fall, our area gets some nasty high winds bringing in the change of seasons. We're talking 40+ mph gusts and weeks on end of 25-30mph winds all day long.  So, when I found a book titled The Rock and the Wind, well, it was a must have. I bought it with big grin in my heart, knowing how perfectly God had sort of "tricked" us into buying this land when, in our shopper's delight, we didn't seem to notice all the rocks and hadn't yet learned about the winds. I'm so glad He did.

Basket Full of Yarn

I was in an Art Expressions Bible study class a couple years ago and was introduced to the idea of Water Color Journaling.  You take something about your day, a special event, or just something you want to highlight and document, and you do a watercolor of it. It becomes a pictorial journal.  You can also write on your painting to make it even more like a journal.

In class we were given a passage of Scripture and some time to meditate on it, often through a nature walk. Then we'd come back to the room and draw and paint the little tidbits of nature we picked up. We'd write about how God spoke to us on our walk with Him, or what He "said" to us through nature.

A water color journal doesn't have to be all about Scripture.  I have a friend who is a wonderful painter; she will sometimes go to the park, the zoo, the botanical gardens, or away for a painting weekend with a friend and she adds paintings and musings to her bound watercolor journal book.

All that explanation is to introduce a drawing & watercolor I did at home one night after I learned about this neat form of noting something special in one's life.  I was so excited about knitting at the time and I loved seeing my basket full of yarn sitting on the fireplace hearth, that I decided to draw and paint it.

This form of drawing is called Blind Contour Drawing...well, a modified and "cheated" version.  A blind contour drawing is where you look only at the subject and not at your paper.  You're not supposed to pick up your pencil either.  Yes, it's tough, but it's actually kind of fun. It certainly levels the playing field among students of varying degrees of artistic skill. 

What it really does is teach you to see.  It teaches you to draw only what you see.  Very often, when drawing, our mind assumes things about the subject. Information previously known about the subject can interfere with what we're actually seeing.  Angles, perspectives, etc., can get messed up when we draw what we assume rather than what we see.  This kind of exercise teaches us to really see what we're drawing and it teaches our brain to communicate more literally with our hand.  I enjoy it quite a bit.

Like I said, I kind of cheated on this one.  I glanced up a little bit throughout the drawing and also went back in to fill in some detail like the cross hatches on the basket and the yarn lines.  But, most of it I did blindly. And since there's no Drawing Cop hanging over me when I draw, it didn't harm my purpose at all. I drew the contours blindly (with a couple cheats) and then loosely went back to fill in detail to bring it more to life.  Then I painted in with water colors. Apart from the weird and way-too-big word, "Knitting", I'm very pleased with the outcome.

And I do love a basket full of yarn.

Seeing Names

My cat, Mini, was a tortie. I got her when I was in second grade and had her all the way through my Junior year in high school. With my second grade mindset, I named her Mini because as a kitten she looked so tiny compared to her huge eyes. My mom always thought I named her Minnie, as in Mouse or Pearl. But no. I always spelled it Mini, as in small.

It's funny how people can say the same name but spell it differently in their minds. I always "see" words in my mind. I don't know if this is common or uncommon but I do. When I say a word, often times I "see" it spelled out in my mind. Someone can say the name "Laurie" but if I'm seeing "Lori" in my mind, I get totally confused in the conversation and can't figure out who they're talking about! Reminds me of Anne of Green Gables who requested that people "please say her name with an 'e 'on the end because it's so much more elegant than Ann without an 'e'."

Summer Flowers

We live entirely off the grid. We have a solar system for our electricity and we collect rain water and snow melt into two cisterns. That means, a couple times a year we don't have a lot of water. We would love to have a garden full of vegetables and have flowers surrounding the house. However, without an abundance of water, it just doesn't work.

So, every summer I buy a few flowers and plant them in pots for the one corner of our porch that receives afternoon sun. This year I did something a little different.

One of the things that drew The Fisherman and me to each other was our common love for wheel thrown pottery. I fell in love with the potter's wheel in college while The Fisherman fell in love with it in high school. It was a simple conversation one day after church about "throwing pots" that opened the door for our first date.

After we were married we took a couple classes at the local community college because we didn't have a place to throw, not having our own wheel, kiln, or studio. The Fisherman always made me jealous because he could throw these big huge pots out of 25 pounds of clay. I could never throw more than 4 or 5 pounds, and that was really pushing it. During our classes, he made these really nice pots perfect for flowers. But the semester ended before he could put them through the second (or glaze) firing. They were only bisque fired. We brought them to the woods with us when we moved, always hoping to find someplace to glaze and fire them.

Meanwhile, bisque fired pottery isn't all that strong. It's very porous because it's not fired at a very high temperature. Over the years, these pots have weakened and eventually broke. When planting my flowers this summer, I came across some of the pieces and had a fun idea.

I took one curved piece, packed it with soil, and walled up the sides with broken branches.

Watering it is a bit of a nuisance since all the water wants to leak out through the sides. My hope to pack the soil and branches tightly enough to prevent this simply didn't work. So I have to trickle water in at both ends where there are two little depressions. But I sure like the way it looks, even with the oops drops of brown stain from when The Fisherman re-stained the front porch.

I especially like the bent branch at the top of this side.

However, the flowers were much more photogenic on the other side. Plus, the lip of the pot is on that side, which I also really like.

I really like this little broken-pot flower pot.

Quilt Back Done!

I finished the backing piece for my first real quilt. I finished it about 10 days ago but it's been so darn windy here that I haven't been able to hang it on the clothes line for a photo. Today was better so at last here it is.

In my last post I mentioned that I used a fabric that had the look and colors I originally wanted for the top. It doesn't show quite true in these photos but there is more of an overall aqua tone to this fabric. If you had a can of light turquoise paint, to get the color I'm talking about I'd tell you to add just a touch more pale green to it. That's aqua. And it was nowhere to be found when I shopped for the many different fabrics I needed for the top. There were only true turquoises and teals, and most of the purples were dark. I used what was available and, though I do love it, I ended up with a much more vibrant and contrasting quilt top than I originally intended. I hadn't intended it to be so, shall we say, loud as it is. I had a much more subtle look in mind.

Since the quilt top was nearly finished when I found this fabric,  I knew I had to make it my backing fabric. Since I loved it so much I decided to do a little something special on the back as well. So I pieced a frame around it with some purple fabrics, just to add a little interest.

In the photo below, if you look carefully, you can see where I had to piece together the solid inner piece as well. Look along the top edge of the photo about 1/3 way across from the left and you'll see a sudden change from a plain turquoise section to a purple flower. Overall, you can hardly notice.

The frame on the back (two 1-inch strips) is supposed to line up with the frame on the front (one 2-inch strip).  The outer border on this backing is larger now than it will be in the end. You're supposed to make the backing bigger than the top for the final quilting project. When finished it will look more like this:

The darker purple strip is the same fabric I've decided to use for the binding. The binding creates a nice folded edging all around the quilt.

The reason for making the quilt bottom larger than the top during the quilting process is probably to allow for creeping...something that I can't have happen now that I've designed it so the frames need to line up. I want my quilting pattern, which is designed for the front, to also work for the back. 

I already know that it's not going to be perfect. I did a test layout on the floor and was disappointed to find I am a smidge off. I will have to be very careful when laying it out. And very diligent with basting it together so it will withstand the amount of handling it will experience while I do the actual quilting over the next, several months. (At least I hope it's only going to be months, rather than years!) With great care I'm hoping my circle quilting from the front will not spill over into the framing on the back. But I think it will.

I'll just have to be OK with that.

By then I will simply be amazed and pleased to have completed a full-blown, honest to goodness, bona fide quilt!  Yea!

May Snow

Just like last year, winter seemed reluctant to depart the mountain. With one final grandstand, it brought us snow on May 9th.

It was almost dusk when I came home to discover what appeared to have been almost three inches of snowfall. Last year it was May 2nd. This year May 9th. Crazy Arizona weather.